The Hunt Chronicles (Volume 3): Crusade

by Demers, J. D.

  “He changed into a scab,” Dobson resolved.

  Sheriff Green nodded.

  “Yep. Hid somewhere in the airfield. Over the next few days, the bastard started picking people off, steadily increasing the scab’s numbers. We really didn’t know what was happening at the time. Thought people were just leaving. Within a week, Tikel had amassed a small army of those demons. All the while, they stayed hidden. Damnedest thing, if you ask me.”

  “Not really,” I said, thinking out loud. All eyes turned to me, so I ran with it. “They’re smart, we know that. If you really had that many people there, they had no reason to come out in the open. It was probably like a giant grocery store to them, picking people off at their leisure.”

  Sheriff Green’s face soured, evidently not liking my comparison. He nodded, though, agreeing with my assessment.

  “Could be. But soon, I guess, they grew too big. One night, out of the blue, we heard screams across the way from the airfield. The jail was spitting distance, after all. Me and my guys left to go see what all the commotion was. Those damn scabs were howling like banshees. Communicating somehow. People were scattering like ants. It got to be too much. Me and a couple others jumped into that Stryker you see outside and hid.”

  He paused and took a drink of water.

  “By morning, the screams had died down, but not totally. Looking out the view port, we saw…well, something out of Planet of the Apes.”

  “I don’t understand,” Dobson said.

  “They were herding survivors. Not killing them. At least, not killing all of them. Some were bitten and thrown in circles, surrounded by scabs. It was like they were seeing how many they could change. Others…well, they stored them like livestock in one of the small hangers off the runway. Their screams…”

  The Sheriff scratched his temples, as if trying to claw the memory out of his head.

  “How did you get out?” I asked.

  “By nightfall, we had figured out how to turn on and drive the Stryker. None of us had any experience with them. No need for Armored Carriers in small towns, you know. It was a fight for the first couple of miles. They chased and hounded us until we out ran them. That’s when we made it here and ran smack dab into Jodi, Sergeant Burghardt, and two hundred survivors from the Lake City Massacre.”

  “Uh, me too,” Coleman said with a grin.

  The Sheriff chuckled.

  “Forgot about you, Coleman. Yeah, the Captain here was shooting at the scabs chasing us, though I’m pretty sure he hit the Stryker every time.”

  “Hey now,” Coleman feigned a serious glare, “I thought I saw some hitching a ride.”

  “Whatever you say, Cleavon Little,” Sheriff Green laughed.

  “And now those scabs occupy all of Dixie county, which is where you need to go,” General Bolduc concluded for the Sheriff.

  Campbell raised a hand.

  “Pardon me for asking, General, but why haven’t the scabs attacked here? They have to be hungry.”

  Sheriff Green fielded the answer.

  “Oh, they have, just not in any real strength yet. I think it’s because they had all of our cattle and quite a few of our people stored for food. Sooner or later though, their stores are going to run dry. We’ve made a couple disastrous attempts into Scab Country. Trust me, you’re not making it more than a mile or two.”

  “Then we’ll head north and take another way,” Dobson said matter-of-factly.

  A chuckle came from the back of the room. It was Sergeant Burghardt, who had remained silent through the entire conversation.

  “Good luck with that,” he muttered.

  “What’s wrong with that idea?” Campbell asked.

  “North of here is another matter entirely,” General Bolduc said. “Though, I’m afraid just as dismal.”

  The General turned to Burghardt. “Go ahead, Sergeant.”

  Sergeant Burghardt peeled himself off the wall and grabbed a nearby yard stick.

  “I was with the 82nd Airborne Division. My brigade was tasked with maintaining order from Savannah, Georgia to Saint Augustine, Florida. That, of course, included Jacksonville, the third largest population center in Florida.”

  He pointed the yardstick at the coastal city.

  “Less than sixty percent of our brigade reported in before we left Bragg. Some were sick while others just went AWOL. So, it wasn’t any surprise to me when shit fell apart on day one. What you called the Awakening.”

  “Colonel Muller, our Brigade CO, pulled what forces he could to here,” he indicated a spot west of the city center. “It was the suburbs, and Muller thought we may be able to hold one of the high schools. That quickly fell apart as more refugees came to us for protection, causing our perimeter to burst. Then word came down about Chicago, so the Colonel—”

  “Okay,” Dobson interrupted, “that’s the second time you mentioned it. What happened in Chicago?”

  “Hmph,” General Bolduc grunted. “I thought it was common knowledge to most survivors. When Chicago fell, refugees in the thousands headed south, taking over farm lands and securing them. Then, two days after this ‘Awakening’, something happened. Chicago began to burn. Not one block, or two, but the whole damn city and most of the suburbs. Best guess is a gas line went up, but no one really knows. The fallout was significant. Millions of Zeds poured from the city, mostly southbound. They say it was a massacre.”

  That sent a shiver down my spine. It was something Fish warned us about at Camp Holly when Cecil brought up the idea of burning the city down. Fish said that the zombies, and scabs for that matter, would need to go somewhere, and that somewhere was probably where Camp Holly sat.

  “So,” Burghardt continued, “that was when Colonel Muller decided it was time to vacate the city. He chose this area just below Lake City,” he said, pointing at a spot west of Jacksonville and north east of where we currently were. “Some called it the Lake City Death March. People followed us by the thousands, but most didn’t have vehicles. By that time, our strength had been whittled down to just over four hundred soldiers and a handful of conscripts.”

  “When we made it to our AOI,” Burghardt paused to look at the doctor. “That’s Area or Interest for those who don’t speak Military.”

  “It’s fine, sergeant,” Doctor Tripp blushed.

  Burghardt nodded apologetically and then continued. “By the time we made it to our AOI, we had just over ten thousand civilians, and only five hundred armed men. Sounds like a lot of people, I know,” he said with a sigh, “but we estimated three to four thousand civilian deaths on the journey.”

  Campbell let loose a light whistle.

  “My god… how? That couldn’t have been more than a hundred miles.”

  “Sixty-eight miles…sir,” he added, attempting to show respect. “We had to stop for a night, which only made things worse. Scabs and Zeds, well, they were coming out of the trees. Not by a lot, but enough.”

  “How did you manage ten thousand civilians?” Campbell asked. “Seems like it would be too many to maintain.”

  “We didn’t,” Burghardt spat. “I told the Colonel it was impossible. Told him we had to spread out, build walls, take extra precautions, especially after we learned everyone was already infected. But what O-6 is going to listen to a cook?”

  “You’re a cook?” Fish asked in surprise.

  “Yeah,” he shot back. “Problem with that? I not only make a mean chili-mac, but I can snipe a scab at two hundred yards.”

  “No problem,” Fish chuckled. “I wouldn’t mind some chili-mac.”

  Burghardt grinned, and then circled the area south of Lake City, which had been shaded red.

  “Now, for the wisdom of good ole Colonel Muller,” he scoffed.

  “After what happened in Chicago, the Colonel was worried that if the same thing happened in Jacksonville and Tallahassee, we would be dealing with legions of the Zeds that would sandwich us from the east and west. Not much we could do against Jacksonville. We had the Osceola Natio
nal Forest to break up the Zeds if they were to head our way, plus a few small rivers and lakes. He focused most of our firepower in that direction. For the west side, Colonel Muller was able to contact a carrier group in the Atlantic, just off the coast of Jacksonville. They were, for the most part, still intact at the time. He asked the Admiral to bomb as many bridges as possible that crossed the Suwannee River. They complied, hitting every bridge along the river in Florida except this one, and a few in Georgia as well, effectively cutting off our escape if we needed it.”

  “Is the carrier group still out there?” Dobson asked hopefully.

  “Nah,” Burghardt replied. “Lost contact with them two days after their bombardment. They could be dead or off on their own, for all we know. Haven’t heard a peep from them since Lake City.”

  The Sergeant zeroed in on the red area.

  “We tried to secure five square miles. Dumb as shit with only five hundred guns, but orders were orders. Not sure how it started. Probably something like what happened to Nate in Dixie County. Unlike Dixie, though, we weren’t dealing with forty scabs, we were dealing with a growing population of Zeds, mainly from inside our refugee camp. By the sixth day, it was lost. I grabbed who I could and what I could, and headed south. Others took off in different directions. We actually thought you guys might have been refugees from that group. We ended up here, after all was said and done. We thought we would be safe, hunkering down across the river, but then Nate showed up in the Stryker.”

  “And Colonel Muller?” Dobson asked.

  “I had to put one between his eyes,” Burghardt growled.

  I winced. “Mercy killing?”

  Burghardt just glared at me without a response. I’m not sure I wanted to know.

  “You have to give it to Sergeant Burghardt and Jodi,” Coleman said. He had been leaning near the door, just listening to the conversation. “They took charge and got us here.”

  Dobson was confused. “You’re a Captain…why didn’t you—”

  “Look, Major,” Coleman said, smiling, “I was a Captain in the Air National Guard. I flew Delta Airlines out of Jacksonville for a living. I’m not a leader of troops.”

  Dobson stared at Coleman for a moment, and then exchanged a glance with Campbell. It was brief, but it appeared they were thinking the same thing.

  The Major noticed the room had gone silent. He quickly cleared his throat.

  “That’s a long trip for a couple hundred people,” Dobson noted, turning back to the map.

  “Yeah, well, Major, we had everyone in vehicles this time, so we made it in a day. Not without problems, mind you.” Burghardt pointed at a town called Fort White, which lay in between Lake City and us. “There was a group of scabs there that gave us some problems. We lost a few people, but made short work of them with the Stryker and MRAP. Chewed through a lot of ammo, but I think we killed most of them.”

  “And,” General Bolduc added, “he lucked out. One of the trucks they took from Lake City was full of ammo and, more importantly, over a hundred Claymores. I’m still not sure why Colonel Muller had them, but we’re not complaining. Those have been our saviors when it comes to Tikel and his scabs.”

  “Why do you say it like that? Is Tikel their leader?” Fish asked.

  “Yeah,” Sheriff Green answered. “Not sure why. Either it was because he changed them all or because he is the meanest of the bunch. Either way, he leads their attacks.”

  That was something I had never considered. Were scabs like vampires? Was one the master, who would infect others and have control over them? Or did they revert back to Neanderthals, and the biggest was king of the mountain? There was no way to confirm either at that point, though.

  Sheriff Green pointed to a canal on the map in front of us. It was on the west side of the storage compound, opposite the Suwannee River.

  “Their first attack by the scabs happened about two months ago. It was only a handful of the demons. We handled them easily enough, but knew they had a few hundred more that could try again. So, we lined the banks of the canal with claymores.”

  “The claymores killed about ten of them on their second attempt. They’re smart, though. Their third attack came about two weeks back. This time, they only tried to cross at one point, allowing the first scab across the canal to get turned to mist. After that, at least thirty filed through the same spot,” Sheriff Green pointed at an area on the map near the southwestern wall of the compound.

  Burghardt chuckled. “Luckily, we had a couple machineguns set up. Mowed most of them down. Tikel screamed like a someone had taken his candy as they retreated. They haven’t tried since, but I’m sure it’s coming.”

  Dobson circled the area they called Scab Country. “What about you? Have you tried to go through their land?”

  General Bolduc frowned. “Only once since I’ve been here. I put a stop to it after that. Wasn’t worth the fuel, ammo, and bodies.”

  “We lost seven men and two vehicles, not to mention the Stryker out back getting pummeled,” Luke added dryly.

  “How long have you been here, General?” Campbell asked.

  General Bolduc readjusted in his chair.

  “Six weeks. Luke rescued quite a few of us as we fled the Tampa area. Rode the coast most of the way north until we hit the Suwannee River. Followed the bank until we met up with Nate and Jodi.”

  “We kinda put Jodi in charge,” the Sheriff explained. “She had the smarts for it.”

  “But,” Jodi cut in, “I’m not a military leader. I asked Norris to take over once they settled in.”

  “Which I tried to turn down five times until they forced my hand,” General Bolduc grumbled.

  “Combat Experience?” Fish asked the General.

  “Not unless you count commanding a supply battalion during Desert Storm as a light Colonel,” he chuckled. “Got my Star in 2001. Three days before my unit was to deploy to Iraq, they found out I had stage two cancer. I fought it, beat it, but the powers that be decided it was better for me to ride a desk at the Pentagon, just in case I relapsed. Retired a few years after that.”

  I noticed, only for a split second, pain in the General eyes. I’m not sure if anyone else saw it, though. If they did, no one said anything.

  Fish grinned. “Couldn’t take riding the pine, sir?”

  “Not for me. Not in my profession. I was Cav, not a desk jockey,” he responded.

  “General,” Dobson said, attempting to bring the conversation back on course, “I understand your plight, but I hope we have relayed ours. We have to go west. According to what you’ve told us, this is the only way across for hundreds of miles or more. There has to be a way. Can you help us?”

  General Bolduc leaned back in his chair and grimaced.

  “Major, I don’t think you understand our plight. Did you get a good look at the people here?”

  “I did, sir, but—”

  “No buts, Major,” the General snapped, and then contained himself. “Look, we—”

  “Are starving!” Jodi jumped in, leaning forward. “There have been two suicides in the past week alone! I’m not sure what you need from us, but I’m sure we don’t have it.”

  “Jodi,” the General raised his hand. She backed down. There was no question this small woman was a firecracker. She seemed the type of person you just did not want to set off.

  General Bolduc turned back to Dobson. “Major, we are on the verge of collapse. Our fuel is minimal. We are down to less than one meal a day, and that will only last another week, at best. Our ammunition is on the level, but would be sorely depleted if we were to attempt an incursion into Scab Country. It just isn’t plausible.”

  “What are your plans, then, General?” Campbell asked while Dobson scowled.

  General Bolduc stood and walked over to Burghardt, putting his hand out. The Sergeant handed him the yardstick and backed away.

  “We plan on sending a forward unit past Fort White and back into the Lake City refugee camp,” he said, guiding the wood
en stick along the path.

  “But you said it was infested,” Campbell pointed out.

  General Bolduc turned and frowned. His eyes were tired.

  “I know, Captain,” he replied. “But we have little choice. According to Sergeant Burghardt, they had enough supplies to feed ten thousand people for a week and two POL trucks. That’s a couple months’ worth of survival for us. If we can clear the area and recover the supplies, we will bring the rest of the civilians up. From there, we will continue north into Georgia.”

  General Bolduc turned and handed the yardstick back to Burghardt.

  “With hope, luck, and little blessing from above, we will be able to find a place in the Appalachian Mountains that we can secure.”

  Something bothered me about the General’s plan. Their men were weak. They had no intelligence on what they were heading into, and with most of their armed personnel heading to Lake City, the storage compound would be left undefended.

  I gathered myself and spoke.

  “Sir, you’re taking a big risk.”

  “Life is risk these days, son,” he responded acridly.

  “No, I mean… well, you have no idea where all the Zulus…or Zeds are now. They migrate, move locations. Your force could run right in the middle of a herd, or they could become trapped. If you’re that low on fuel and supplies, it may be for nothing. You’re also going to leave this compound virtually defenseless.”

  “We’ve thought about that,” Sergeant Burghardt said. “We have little choice. We know we may not be successful. But if we don’t do it, we’ll be eaten alive, literally.”

  “I understand, General,” Dobson said bitterly, removing himself from his own thoughts. “But we have to keep moving. I guess we will try and traverse Scab Country on our own.”

  “You’ll die,” Sheriff Green muttered.

  “General Bolduc,” Campbell said as he rose, “do you mind if we talk amongst ourselves?”

  The General scanned the room and then nodded.

  “I have some rounds to do. Feel free to use this unit.”